


Thinking with Steele

by Emma_Wolf



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kink, Other, Steele dossier, golden showers, water sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12069891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Wolf/pseuds/Emma_Wolf
Summary: Isidore d'Aiglemort hires two servants of Naamah to pee on a bed in which Ysandre once slept. Make Terre d'Ange great again, y'all.





	Thinking with Steele

She sat high in the saddle, haughty and proud. Arrogant. Isidore wanted to wrap his hands around her long, slender neck and choke the life out of her. How had he ever entertained the thought of marrying her?

“Thank you for coming, your highness. It’s important that you see what the Skaldi are doing and how I’m holding the passes with the little resources I have.” He swallowed bile as he said it.

She nodded. “I shall tell my grandfather of your needs.”

Who was she fooling? He knew King Ganelon was dying and useless. This was just her way of weaseling her way out of making any commitment and shifting the blame when Camlach fell. She was a weak dauphine and would make a weak queen. Everyone knew it, they were just too afraid to admit it. Everyone except him. He was the one who would protect the borders and make Terre d'Ange great again.

Isidore just nodded as she and her party left. He was glad to see the back of them.

He hurried inside his manor house to the rooms he had given to the dauphine for her stay. Used to doing their work in quiet, the maids startled at his approach. “Leave them as they are,” he ordered them. To his valet, he said “I’m expecting two guests from the City of Elua. Send them up here when they arrive.” He turned back to the housekeeping staff. “The rest of you, go.”

Though they were confused by his orders—why would Isidore lodge his guests in uncleaned rooms, beds which still bore the linen of their last sleeper—they feared disobeying and shuffled out of the room. Yet one approached Isidore with a nervous curtsey. “My lord,” she said breathlessly. “Her highness has left this behind.” She held up a small bundle before her.

Isidore took it wordlessly and dismissed the girl with a nod.

Once alone, Isidore wandered through the room that had been Ysandre’s. It was open and airy with long windows that looked out onto the mountains. As though Ysandre’s coldness had infected the room, he shivered and shut the curtains. It would not do for the room to have a chill. He rung for someone to come light a fire.

Within the hour, the fire was lit, and the room was warm. Isidore’s valet returned and announced “Two servants of Naamah await your pleasure.”

“Show them in.”

One was fair with pale blonde hair. Isidore guessed she was Camaeline like him. The other had hair as dark as night with shocking violet eyes. They introduced themselves as Marquita and Adalicia no Mandrake. The dark one, Adalicia, drew out a paper from her satchel. “It only remains for you to write your _signale_ and sign, my lord.”

“It's _steel_ ,” he said mildly as he completed the contract. He rolled the paper into a scroll and handed it back to Adalicia. He cleared his throat and tossed a bag on the rumpled bed. “Put those on,” he ordered. “And wait here while I undress.” He went into the garderobe and pulled himself slowly out of his clothes. In the chamber, he could hear the surprise of the adepts. He had no doubt most patrons wanted to dress them in black leather or the braids of the Shahrizai. But he did not think he would be like most patrons.

He picked up the bundle his maid had given him—the bundle Ysandre had left behind—and opened it up. Yes, this would do nicely. He slipped into the silks, leaving the ties undone, and returned to his adepts in a coral dress.

Adalicia looked fierce in the wolfskin pelts and woolen dress. Like a proper Skaldi warrior woman. She held a battle axe in her hands, weighing its heft. Marquita looked defiant as though offended by the coarse rags and badly cured fur. “I’m Camaeline, my lord,” she said, sticking out her chin stubbornly. “I’ve lost much of my family in raids.”

Isidore took her face in his hands and nodded. “That’s why I fight as I do. Will it affect your performance?”

Marquita shook her head. “But I don’t know how to wield this,” she said and heaved up a spear. “Anything else—flechettes, floggers—I’m trained on. But I wouldn’t want to hurt you. More than you’d like, my lord.”

“That’s just for show,” he reassured her. He sprawled himself out on the bed. “I’ve found the real pleasure is in the pretending and imagining. Don’t you think?”

The corners of Adalicia’s mouth curled up in a wry smile. “How do you imagine a berserker makes love?” She asked and she swung the Skaldi axe in circles over her head.

“In filth,” Isidore replied and ordered the adepts to relieve themselves on him on the bed in which Ysandre had slept. He rolled around in their water in Ysandre’s pale silk dress, as though savoring the Skaldi waste.

“Aye, if I were a Bryony adept, I’d wager its why these hides smell the way they do,” Marquita said.

“And if I were an Orchis adept, I’d laugh at that silly pink dress, my lord,” Adalicia said, still smiling.

Isidore smiled back. “Good thing you’re both Mandrake adepts and trained to debase me.” _And Ysandre’s silly pink dress. And the bed in which she slept_ , Isidore added to himself. “Now take me, you Valkyrie! Show me Valhalla between your thighs.”

When they finished, Isidore gave them two purses each. “One for Naamah, and one for you.” He called his valet to prepare his bath. Stripping off Ysandre’s dress stained with piss and the juices of love making, he tossed it to his valet. “Ysandre left this. See that it is returned to her.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. I laugh to keep from weeping.


End file.
